


The One Up Above

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape, Sex, Smut, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 13 years old, everyone will receive the most important document of their lives, fittingly named the Thirteenth Document. On the official paper that was mailed to the household, it was regally titled with the receiver's full name and birth date. The Thirteenth Document revealed everything of the receiver's future from that day forward. It had everything from the simple, like what his/her 34th birthday would be like, to the nerve-wracking, like who you were destined to spend your life with. The One Up Above chooses your future, your fate, your life, and can change it at anytime he wants. His most selective decisions are who is going to be your Soul Mate. But he ensures to put special caution into choosing John Watson's and Sherlock Holmes's Soul Mates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Up Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But here he was, struggling with a boy called William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Everything about him seemed wrong and nothing worked. The One Up Above had received, literally, millions of reports on him. Most of them were negative, speaking of how inconsiderate and rude he was. He read all of them, yet none offered a clue as to what the most important aspects of William's future should be.

The One Up Above

Chapter 1

The One Up Above

 

~

 

Most people would think that choosing someone's entire future after age 13 would be terrifying. Being in charge of someone's life, trying to make it a good one? What if you screwed it up? Well, you could easily fix that by changing their future again. But still,  _anything_ could go wrong. Horribly wrong. Yet the One Up Above never worried about ruining a life. He was so precise and confident in his decisions, mistakes were impossible. He would take reports from people who knew the child before he or she turned 13, and base his conclusions off of that. Some people were initially shocked when they first received their results, but satisfaction was not uncommon later. The One Up Above was perfect.

But here he was, struggling with a boy called William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Everything about him seemed  _wrong_ and nothing worked. The One Up Above had received, literally,  _millions_ of reports on him. Most of them were negative, speaking of how inconsiderate and rude he was. He read all of them, yet none offered a clue as to what the most important aspects of William's future should be. The One Up Above had all the insignificant areas of William's future completed: what name he'd go by (Sherlock, he had decided on.), future personality traits (Same as childhood), 57th birthday (Small party with some friends).... But the One Up Above was having an aggravating time trying to figure out who Sherlock would belong with. For the rest of his life. The boy's 13th birthday was tomorrow, and his Thirteenth Document had to be mailed out at midnight tonight. 

9:00 and he still didn't have anything. The One Up Above finally, reluctantly moved on to his next child and decided he would return to Sherlock's document later. Perhaps after more people he knew of, it would be easier to find his Soul Mate. The next Thirteenth Documents he completed were as easy as the ones before Sherlock. A Selma Ryder, Hannah White, Maurice Derrick, Melanie Fields...John Watson. John Hamish Watson.

The One Up Above read through reports of John with wide eyes. Something about him. Sherlock's Soul Mate, possibly? John was to be an army doctor, Afghanistan, then to work at St. Bartholomew's Hospital as a physician. He had platinum blonde hair and deep blue eyes, tanned white skin and a short figure. John was amiable and tolerant, loyal and trustworthy. He was strong-willed and sensible. Sherlock was almost the complete opposite. Rude and impatient, a complete genius, protective over the ones he truly loved. Unique, unemotional. The One Up Above had a feeling that John and Sherlock would change each other.

 _Perfect_ , he grinned as he wrote down "John Hamish Watson" under the last category "Soul Mate" on William Sherlock Scott Holmes's Thirteenth Document.

Now it was up to them to find each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much!!!!!!!!!!!


	2. John's Thirteenth Document

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He closed his eyes when he was about to read the next line, but placed his thumb where it would be. John opened one eye, then the other. He took his thumb off the concealed name.

The One Up Above

Chapter 2

John's 13th Birthday

 

~

 

He was staring out his window, right at the paved walkway. It was 11:34 PM; 26 minutes until the day. John's 13th birthday. He didn't care about the small things like favourites or birthdays included in his document. John only wanted,  _needed_ to know who his Soul Mate was. The desperation clawed at his sanity. He wanted to scream out, the anticipation was so great.

An official letter from the government, mailed one week prior to his/her birthday, gave the exact time of which a child's Thirteenth Document would be delivered. John Watson was one of the lucky few that had it right on his birthday- the very second he turned 13 at midnight.

His parents knew he was up. Mr and Mrs Watson were to excited for their boy to force him to sleep. Tomorrow was a school day, a Tuesday. John did not fare well without his much desired rest. But at this point no one cared. The only thing on their minds was the document. Though no one was allowed to know of an individual's Soul Mate (could not be told unless two were certain they were destined to be) John's mum and dad wondered. They hoped their step-daughter would be pretty and sweet, and have lots of grandbabies for them. They smiled warmly at the thought.

Time passed as if it wanted to tease John with how slow it could go. Painfully slow, like a turtle. 11:41 PM right now. 19 minutes until the day.

He couldn't do anything but stare out the window, wait for the official government worker to stride briskly to the Watson household, knock promptly, a set frown on his face. He would wear a suit and be holding a letter, perfectly handwritten by the One Up Above himself. John's parents would answer the door, and the government official would ask for the presence of John Hamish Watson. Then he would hand his Thirteenth Document over to him, and his entire future would be set and in front of him. He would gaze at the government worker as he walked away with the same imperturbable look he arrived with, even though the receiving of a child's Thirteenth Document was quite arousing and a matter to celebrate. Though ironically, hardly any of the information was allowed to be shared with anyone, except if it directly affiliated him or her.

The government worker that actually arrived, at 11:59 PM, was a very tall male. His dark skin and black suit made him almost blend into the night. John could barely, but nonetheless, still spot him. He had the serious frown like imagined and his gait was to the point. He looked like the kind that was not tolerant of frivolity and ignorance.

At 12:00 AM, the official was knocking on the door, tinny raps of knuckles against painted wood. Mrs Watson grinned ecstatically. She tried to keep her face straight and answer the door without exuberance, but she could not.

"I would like the presence of John Hamish Watson," the official said blankly.

John's stomach filled with butterflies as he heard the deep voice speak clearly into the house. His heart hammered and he felt a bit dizzy with the amount of adrenalin coursing through him. His mother did not call him to the door. He automatically strode to the front door.

He was short in comparison to the government worker, at least by a foot. His serious demeanor and hard-set frown was intimidating. The immaculate letter in his meaty hands did nothing to console John's anxiety. He could feel his body wanting to tremble with euphoria, apprehension, fear, and a confusing combination of relief and feeling tired. God he was starting to feel sick.

John's mother left the foyer so he could receive his Thirteenth Document alone. The government official cleared his throat, his dark eyes boring into John's skull with every passing second. "John Hamish Watson," he said. "The One Up Above has requested that your Thirteenth Document be delivered to you at twelve o'clock AM on August the seventh," he formally announced. "John Hamish Watson, your Thirteenth Document-" the tall official handed John his document in abrupt, swooping movements. "This official document, prepared by the One Up Above himself, is your future. You are never to lose this document, nor are you ever to share it with any other being. The only exception for this rule is if the other being is  _directly_ affiliated."

John stared up at him with glazed eyes. He gingerly took the thick envelope from the official's large hands and stared at the printer-perfect handwriting on the back of it.

"You may open it," the official government worker said as he turned away to leave.

John closed the door behind him and leant against it, staring fearfully at his document. He touched the black ink that formed the letters of his name. High-quality and expensive. He turned it over; the envelope was closed with a red wax seal. John looked up from the letter, checking if his mother or father was around. Parents of the new 13 year old found that the less pressure a child had while opening their Thirteenth Document, the easier for them it was. John was grateful for this common courtesy.

He slowly began to open the envelope, cautiously working the wax seal off. It unstuck noiselessly. John could see the folded papers. He removed it from its casing and let the envelope fall to the floor. "John Hamish Watson" in all its glory faced the ceiling.

He took a deep breath before actually looking at his document.  _So dramatic_ , he thought breathlessly. Then he stared down at it. His hands slowly unfurled the papers from their resting position. There was the introductory note from the One Up Above, quite impersonal. However, the rest of the Thirteenth Document was personalised for each individual, carefully crafted with precision and no mistakes to be made.

While it was quite standard to analyse each line, John skipped through the stapled packet to the very last page. The Soul Mate line was the final thing written into the document. Always one of the most important for every human being.

Before that came the person's sexual orientation; for John it read "Bisexual". He swallowed hard at this. _So my parents may not get the perfect step-daughter they always dreamed of_. He closed his eyes when he was about to read the next line, but placed his thumb where it would be. John opened one eye, then the other. He took his thumb off the concealed name.

He nearly gasped when he read the name. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes," he whispered to himself, touching the name gently.


	3. Sherlock's Thirteenth Document

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always had that suspicion he wasn't into girls. Never blinked an eye at them, yet a couple guys had caught his eye. He thought it was one of those experimental phases happening early. Now he was certain that he was attracted to men.

The One Up Above

Chapter 3

Sherlock's Thirteenth Document

 

~

 

Sherlock's designated time was 3:17 PM. It was currently 3:14, three minutes until his future was set. He hadn't worried like John. In fact, Sherlock spent the beginning of his day as if it wasn't his 13th birthday and as if it wasn't the most important day of his life. It wasn't like he couldn't come to terms with it, or he was fearful, or he didn't want to talk about it. More of carelessness for the entire, melodramatic process every 13 year old must anticipate and suffer.

When Mrs Holmes saw her child watching telly two minutes before 3:17, she shook her head, tsking softly. "Sherlock, two minutes till and you're hardly decent. This is the day," she chastised him. "But I don't even know if I'll call you Sherlock anymore," she laughed lightly.

Sherlock grunted. "Don't care."

At promptly 3:16 PM, a short female was walking down the pathway to the Holmes's residence. She held the same perfect envelope that every 13 year old received, only this one was especially for Sherlock. Then the sharp, three knocks. Mrs. Holmes answered the door, quickly glancing back at her son, who still watched television while his future was quite literally at the door. The government official also took the opportunity to glance at Sherlock, muttering in disdain to herself judgments and confirming preconceived ideas.

Everyone had heard of Sherlock Holmes, and they all had hardly amicable things to say about him. 

"I would like the presence of William Sherlock Scott Holmes," she said, her voice echoing in the house.

Sherlock winced hearing his full name. He loathed it with every cell in him. Sherlock was a much better name to go by, so much more unique. He was the only Sherlock in the world, probably, giving people good reason to remember him.

When Sherlock did not go to the door, the official sighed and Mrs Holmes flushed in humiliation. Was her child really  _that_ ignorant and careless? "Sherlock, come here, please," she said, a hint of exasperation threatening to escape her feigned serenity. "And turn off the television. This is far more important,  _dear._ " The "dear" was so strained and obviously infuriated.

He complied. The official stared impatiently at him, hearing the small sound his leather dress shoes made on the hardwood. Sherlock's mum nodded curtly and departed elsewhere in the household.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," she began, in the same way the man had done to John. It was the standard format for delivering one's Thirteenth Document. "The One Up Above has requested that your Thirteenth Document be delivered to you at three seventeen o'clock PM on January the sixth," she said. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, your Thirteenth Document-" the lady proceeded to place the envelope in his hand. "This official document, prepared by the One Up Above himself, is your future. You are never to lose this document, nor are you ever to share it with any other being. The only exception for this rule is if the other being is  _directly_ affiliated." Sherlock shrugged, to which the official glared at him. "You may open it."

The government official took no time in getting away from the house. To no surprise, Sherlock rained on her parade. He sneered, closing the door and throwing the envelope on a table.

Then he sat right in front of the telly again.

 

~

 

Mrs Holmes had hoped that her son actually opened the envelope and looked on it. But to her dismay, the letter was on the foyer table, untouched. She peaked into the sitting room. Sherlock was perched on the sofa, watching something considerably idiosyncratic for a 13 year old; it was a nature documentary, apparently, based off of the opulent scenery she could see.

"Sherlock, my poor boy," she said softly. He was so different from other children his age. His brother, Mycroft, had turned out... Fine-ish. Well he was socially awkward and held the power of a despot, had a future position as a minor part of the British Parliament. Unusually intelligent, snobby... Need the list continue? Mycroft was not going to lead the conventional life every parent dreamt of their child having. Oh, well. At least someone would be there to take care of the weirder kids. The Holmes brothers, weirdest people in the universe.

Mrs Holmes walked to the sitting room, where Sherlock was. "Why don't you want to open it?" she inquired gently.

"Because I don't care," Sherlock grunted.

"Don't you want to know who your Soul Mate is? Future career?" she offered.

His head suddenly shot up. _Career. My career_ , he thought. "Mum, you're right. I  _need_ to know what my career will be. World class genius, a violinist, or..." he sighed mirthfully. "I'm so intelligent, just about every occupation is a possibility for me."

His mother smiled, relieved that her son was finally eager. "Now don't get too cocky," she teased.

Sherlock's smile fell, back to his apathetic, stern expression that showed no signs of joviality from the seconds before. He tried not to show the skip there was in his steps or the excitement of being a genius. When he picked up the letter, he immediately ripped it open, unfolding the stack of papers to search for the page that would state his job. He could look at everything else later.

But suddenly, a different feeling surged through him. He knitted his eyebrows together in consternation. Sherlock slowly turned the pages to the very last page, the last line in his Thirteenth Document.

"John Hamish Watson," he read quietly to himself.

 

~

 

He always had that suspicion he wasn't into girls. Never blinked an eye at them, yet a couple guys had caught his eye. He thought it was one of those experimental phases happening early. Now he was certain that he was attracted to men.

"John Hamish Watson," Sherlock repeated, slightly louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! xx♥


	4. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hands, all over my body. "Look at all this smooth, pale skin," he had said, satisfied. He ran his hands down my torso."You're lanky, yet so damn attractive, you know Sherlock?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Triggers for rape, skipping this chapter is recommended if you are affected by this.

The One Up Above

Chapter 4

Nightmares

 

~

 

_Nightmares. It's a memory that will stay in my mind forever. His hands, all over my body. "Look at all this smooth, pale skin," he had said, satisfied. He ran his hands down my torso."You're lanky, yet so damn attractive, you know Sherlock?"_

_I wasn't scared. I don't feel fear. Yet Moriarty's lecherous stares were foreboding. I knew what was coming next. My suspicions were confirmed when he had began touching the back of my neck. He pressed himself against me, smiling sardonically. Mocking me, such an intellectual person, finally being trapped. And about to be raped._

_He slowly stripped off his clothing in a teasing manner, as if I wanted to have sex with him. Moriarty revealed his own pale skin, first his torso, then his legs, then his penis. I swallowed hard, nervously taking glances at his member. It was large. If he was planning to fuck me, it would hurt. And this was in its flaccid state. When Moriarty removed the clothing below my waist, he was half-erect. He kissed me softly. For a brief second it almost felt consensual and like I wasn't just his sex slave. You hear in all the stories that the rapist is rough and careless. Not with Moriarty. He touched me gently, yet it still left invisible marks where his hands were. He held me like he would an infant._

_I was a virgin, not quite ready to have intercourse, especially not with such a maniac. But I've kissed. A girl called Julia cornered me in the bathroom when I was only eight, and she kissed me hard. It was more like her smashing her lips against mine and not at all pleasant. Julia told me that she liked me a lot and then fled the scene._

_And there I was in the loo again, being forced to do something sexual. Moriarty opened his mouth slightly, forcing me to do the same. But the more he snogged me, the more comfortable it felt and the more relaxed I became. Eventually, I was willingly kissing him, our tongues sliding against each other, him occasionally moaning when I would suck on the tip of his tongue. He nibbled on my bottom lip, eliciting a small groan from me. But that was only the kissing part. Moriarty wanted much more. And he was only 13._

_I could feel his erection steadily growing pressing up against me. Mine was also starting to defeat gravity. He rubbed them against each other; we both groaned quietly._

_But then Moriarty skipped the rest of the foreplay and he got rather raucous. He forced me to the ground, lying on the cold, uncleanly tile on my bare stomach. He pinned me to the floor with a forceful hand, completely opposite of the gentle touch he used to caress me just seconds earlier. "How should I take you?" he'd said huskily. "No, I think I want you to bottom. That way I can fuck your nice, tight arse and hear you squeal in pleasure..." he whispered disparagingly. "...or in pain...."_

_I looked back at him, showing a mere hint of pleading. It was inconspicuous to me at that point, but so blatant to Moriarty. "You're so delicious when you're in this position...Completely under my control, at my mercy, looking so damn fuckable. God I want you so bad."_

_I didn't move. I froze myself and prayed for it to be over with. I wasn't scared, though. It wasn't scary. I just really didn't want to be raped._

_"Too bad I don't have any lube," he sneered. "Look at the ground!" he yelled. Moriarty twisted my head so that my nose was buried in the tile and I was kissing the ground. I closed my eyes and tried not to breathe in the smell of feces, urine, and the vague remnants of semen that the ground reeked of. "So I'll just have to use my spit."_

_I heard him spitting a wad on his hand, which he then jabbed up my arse, rubbing it inside. It felt extremely uncomfortable, as if I needed to use the toilets and have a shit. He repeated this process of spitting then shoving his hand up me three more times. Then I assumed he was lubing up his penis when his fingers weren't inside me. Apparently this was the case; he moaned from rubbing the saliva up and down his shaft. "I am...unh...so ready to...oh...fuck you, Sherlock...." he grunted out._

_A moment later, he had draped my knees on his shoulders and I could feel something hard, wet, and spherical pressing against my hole. He thrusted in quite slowly, but it still hurt. Moriarty was practically stretching me so much it was painful. He was probably rupturing something, too. After he realised he couldn't go any further he mumbled in frustration but still relished in the pleasure my arse gave his giant rod._

_Moriarty took no more time to sit there with his cock in my butt. He fucked me hard, groaning loudly. I tried not to scream, god the pain was tormenting each and every nerve ending. I felt and heard his testicles slapping against my cheeks, his tumultuous streams of cussing and breathless groans._

_It only took him five minutes to come, didn't even bother to hold it out. He gave short and shallow thrusts and came with a high-pitched cry. "Fuck, fuck, Sherlock! You feel so fucking good...Fuck yes, fuck yeah! Fu-fuck...Oh my fucking god!" His words were really nothing but incoherent speech and sentences made up of the word "fuck"._

_He pulled out, panting with a now flaccid penis._

Sherlock awoke with a start. His cheeks were flushed, he couldn't tell if it was arousal or embarrassment, and he was panting slightly.  _Is this what fear feels like_? he mused. It felt terrifyingly real, the nightmare, as if Moriarty was raping him once again.

Three months had past since Sherlock turned 13. Only a month after that, Moriarty took it a step further than just casual glances and forced him to be his sex toy. Sherlock deduced that he was jealous of his Soul Mate. He'd always wanted Sherlock, crushed on him since age nine. His revenge was raping him, trying to give Sherlock the idea that his current Soul Mate wasn't as good as Moriarty could be. While he could appeal the decision made by the One Up Above, he would not get to choose his Soul Mate, the process was lengthy, and you had to have known your Soul Mate for at least six months before an appeal was allowed to be sent in. Moriarty didn't even remember his Soul Mate's name as written on his Thirteenth Document. He didn't care, either. No one could be as sexually and physically appealing as Sherlock Holmes was to him.

Everyone knew that Moriarty had an execrable mind, but Sherlock didn't believe it until the rape. At first, when they were both about 10, he would look at Sherlock and admire him, smile and wave in the halls, or even made small talk. At that point, with Sherlock being the genius he was, he had already deduced that Moriarty had a physical  _and_ sexual attraction towards him. Then at 12, Moriarty started discernibly flirting with him. Compliments, lecherous stares, more-than-friendly touches.

No one guessed he would have gone as far as to rape Sherlock. No one guessed he would have gone as far as to rape him two more times after the first time.

Sherlock swallowed, remembering the agony and sounds of suffering he wanted to make, but couldn't, because it would tear him down later and he'd cripple. Sharp memories of his arse hurting for days afterwards, wincing every time he did so much as move. Fury sent hot rushes through his skin, how dare Moriarty use him and patronise him, degrade him as if he were worthless. But most of all, there was a certainty in him. What he thought was fear before was just the aftershocks of the nightmare. Now he had  _real_ trepidation. His heart pounded in his chest and adrenalin rushed through his veins.  _What if it happens for a fourth time?_ he thought, nearly gasping at the idea.

He also felt the need for someone. Like his Soul Mate. He didn't know what John Hamish Watson looked like, or who he was, but for some reason, Sherlock had the intuition that John was just right for him. He had never been so sappy or sentimental in his life, but John...He was confident that John would be nurturing and kind. And warm enough to console the everlasting shivers Moriarty's touch had left with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this may be out of order with the next chapters, but I thought I would add this in just to make Sherlock slightly more human. And I promise there's only one more boring Thirteenth Document chapter, then I'll get real. Thanks so much!!!!!! xx♥

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, sorry if it was confusing (there's a lot that needs explanation) and thank you for reading!!!!!!!! ♥


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